Instead of doing what she did yesterday, which was call for a masahista, and then sleep a few more hours, she immediately got up and began to write. And after two hours, she began sending out stories — here, there, and everywhere.

And then her neck exceedingly bothered her.

And she realized she needed coffee.

In the meantime, the Masskara Parade on Lacson Street, which self has been anticipating seeing in person for the first time ever, seemed to have disappeared. At some point, just before 10 p.m., she heard powerful singing.

She thought: The parade! And ran to her balcony.

But the street below was absolutely empty. Turned out the singing was coming from a karaoke bar, a block away. And here is a picture self took of the karaoke bar, while standing on her balcony. She would have loved to go down on the street for a closer look, but she was alone. And still has to wear those huge sunglasses (How long until this black eye gets out of her life, she wonders? She had to bail on a party for one of her nephews, last night. Because it would have looked ridiculous to keep her shades on even while scarfing down lechon, etc)

Karaoke Bar, Bacolod. Self hears singing from there almost every night.